


Too Dear To My Heart

by Miko



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, Intercrural Sex, Masturbation, Mind Games, Sexual Fantasy, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing more important in Pietro's life than his twin. All he wants is for Wanda to be safe, and happy. He would do anything to protect her.</p><p>Even from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Dear To My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Although I've marked this as No Archive Warnings because the twins aren't underage when they get around to having sex, there is some sexual content when they're still under eighteen as Pietro goes through puberty and begins to develop feelings for his sister. There's description of masturbation and sexual fantasies when he's sixteen, so if underage content is very upsetting to you, you may want to skip this one.

At some point, people started trying to separate them ‘for their own good’. Pietro didn’t understand why, when always before everyone had exclaimed over what an adorable pair he and Wanda made.

They’d shared a crib the same way they’d shared the womb, and later a bed in the one-room apartment they lived in with their parents. They shared toys and clothes, and although they weren’t identical, people often mixed them up when they were little until Wanda’s hair grew longer. All their lives they’d slept together, ate together, played together, even bathed together – although that last part had changed as they got older, admittedly.

One night he lay in bed, curled around Wanda as he always did, listening to their parents whisper on the other side of the room once they thought the twins were safely asleep.

“Soon enough they’ll be teenagers,” their mother said. “They can’t keep sleeping together like this.”

“Where else can we put them?” their father answered.

“We’ll have to split up,” their mother insisted. “I’ll sleep with Wanda and you with Pietro. It’s the only way.”

“We can wait a few years, yet,” their father said. “They’re only ten, it will be all right.”

Huddled in his arms, Wanda looked up at him. “Why do they want to keep us apart?” she whispered, too soft to carry further than him. They were better than their parents at that, able to communicate in a near-silent sort of shorthand they’d developed over the years.

“I don’t know,” Pietro replied, and he was as troubled by the conversation as his sister. “Don’t worry, we’ll talk them out of it. It will be all right.”

Reassured by his words, she rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. It wasn’t long before he felt her breathing even out as she fell asleep, but Pietro stayed up late, thinking.

Soon after that the bombs came, and it no longer mattered what their parents thought about them sharing a bed. The problem was, the makeshift ‘orphanage’ that had been set up for refugee children at the nearby convent had even stricter views on the matter. There was a dormitory for boys and one for girls, and they weren’t even allowed into each other’s side of the building.

It took less than a week of sleepless nights for Pietro to learn how to pick the lock on the door at the end of the dormitory hallway leading to the common areas. He headed straight for a spot they’d discovered together while playing, a dusty corner of an attic storage room with just enough space for two small children to cram in together. As long as they didn’t mind getting close, anyway.

When he got there he found Wanda waiting anxiously, and her whole face lit up when she saw him. Somewhat smugly, she informed him she’d gotten _her_ door open the night before. Pietro stuck his tongue out at her, and they settled down together for the first real sleep either of them had had since the bomb landed.

The nuns tried stationing someone outside both dormitories, and it was enough to stop them from getting out every night. Even so, Pietro and Wanda managed often enough to thoroughly vex the women caring for them. They had to keep finding new places to sleep as the nuns caught on to their existing ones, but that wasn’t much trouble for two such adventurous and determined children.

Wanda reported overhearing more than one whispered conference, and her descriptions matched what Pietro heard as well. “What do they mean, we're too dependent on each other,” she said one night when they were twelve, scowling. “You’re all I have, of course we don’t want to be separated.”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, as baffled as she was. It was true that the few other sibling pairs in the orphanage didn’t seem to care much about being apart, but they weren’t _twins_. Why didn’t everyone understand that things were different for twins?

Not to mention the screaming nightmares they both still got about the bombs, nightmares that only faded when they woke to each other’s comfort. Maybe it made no sense for that to help, when the sensation of sleeping together should have been what reminded them of the experience, but the nightmares were far worse when they were apart.

It wasn’t until they were thirteen that Pietro finally understood why it maybe wasn’t such a good idea for them to sleep together.

Several times already he’d woken in the morning to find his dick hard. He knew what it meant, he’d heard the older boys talking and joking about it. Mostly he ignored it until it went away, especially if he was with Wanda. Pietro was fairly certain she’d noticed, judging by the teasing smirk she’d given him once or twice, but she never said anything.

This time it was more than a morning reflex. He woke from a strange, heated dream to find her shaking him, leaning over him in concern. Pietro was panting and shivering, and he could feel something sticky slowly cooling in his underwear.

“Are you all right?” Wanda asked, eyes wide. “You were making noises, but it didn’t sound like your nightmares usually do.”

“I’m fine,” he said, brushing her off and rolling over to put his back to her, burying his face in the pillow to hide his blush. “It’s all right, go back to sleep.”

“Pietro, what’s wrong?” she insisted, her hand coming to rest on his back. He twitched away from the touch, sensitive and embarrassed.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” he mumbled, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.

“I’m not sleeping until I know what’s wrong,” she said, stubborn to the core as always. He loved her dearly, but sometimes it drove him crazy when she pried at him like this.

“Leave me alone,” he half-shouted, hunching his shoulders to avoid her touch.

There was a long moment of silence, and he thought maybe a miracle had happened and she’d decided to listen to him for once in their lives. Then the sound of a muffled sniffle reached him, followed by another, and Pietro knew he’d made a mistake.

He could never stand to make her cry. It was lucky she didn’t seem to realize the weakness, or she’d surely have taken advantage of it.

“Wanda,” he whispered, turning back to her and trying hard to ignore the discomfort of the mess in his shorts. “Wanda, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Why are you hiding from me?” she asked, the tear tracks on her cheeks glimmering in the dim moonlight coming through the window.

“Because it’s embarrassing,” he forced himself to admit. He knew she understood, because her eyes went wide and her gaze dropped down, as if she could see through the stolen blanket and his shorts, and then she blushed as well.

“Maybe the nuns aren’t so wrong, and we should stay in our own beds,” he added, miserable at the thought. He didn’t _want_ to sleep apart from her. He hated it when one of them didn’t manage to get out or they hadn’t found a new hiding place yet.

Wanda was no less devastated by the idea than he was. “Do we have to? It doesn’t bother me.”

The thought of having this happen again, with her _knowing_ what was going on, made Pietro squirm with humiliation. “We’ll still be together during the day. They’ve never tried to stop that,” he pointed out.

She nodded, but she was reluctant and subdued. “All right. If that’s what you want. Should we go now?”

As if in defiance of his own decision, Pietro reached out and gathered her into a close hug. “Not yet,” he whispered, unwilling to let go one moment sooner than he had to.

She huddled against him, her arms coming around his waist, head tucked under his chin. It was the pose they’d shared in the womb, and the way they ended up sleeping more often than not. The idea of never holding her this way again made him want to cry, but he bit his lip and swallowed it down. It would be all right. They were growing up, that was all.

He silently prayed that growing up didn’t mean they were also going to grow apart.

* * *

The orphanage was badly overcrowded, so the day they turned sixteen the twins were gently pushed out on their own. The nuns helped them to find jobs, Wanda working as a waitress and Pietro on a construction site. Together they were able to scrape together enough to afford a tiny, one-room space in a tenement building.

Their ‘furniture’ was old milk crates and boards on bricks, their beds nests of blankets on the floor. From somewhere Wanda produced some old, moth-eaten curtains, and she hung them up around and between their beds to give them a semblance of privacy. She kept looking at him as she did it, little glances from under her lashes like she hoped he would stop her, but Pietro said nothing.

They hadn’t slept together since that night when they were thirteen. The nightmares had finally faded, and he’d gotten used to sleeping without the warmth of her against him, or the soft sound of her breathing lulling him into the darkness. Now at least he could hear her again, but that only made him long all the more to push the curtain aside and hold her close.

It had been the right decision to make, though, he was certain of that. The dreams had only grown more intense and become more frequent as he got older, and now he woke nearly every morning hard and aching.

Of course, he quickly realized that the curtain wasn’t going to do much to help with _that_. He could hear every shift of the sheets as she moved, every tiny hitch and change in her breathing, and that meant she could hear him, too. Their tub was in a corner of the same room with only another curtain around it, so there was no opportunity for privacy that way, and the toilets were communal stalls down the hall.

Embarrassment didn’t last long against the intense pressures of a teenage body. Pietro tried to wait for nights when he was certain Wanda was deeply asleep, but sometimes he was pretty sure she woke up anyway. Her breathing would be louder, not so steady, by the time he finished.

Worse were the times when _he_ would wake up to hear Wanda making muffled sounds, gasps and tiny moans she tried to stifle against her pillow, the sheets rustling as she moved beneath them. Pietro didn’t know what she was doing, exactly, but he had a vivid imagination and could never seem to turn it _off_ in those moments. Nor could he stop his body from reacting to the sounds and mental pictures.

He knew it was wrong for him to think about her like that, to picture what she did or listen to her noises and feel his dick getting hard with desire. Pietro told himself it was only a reflexive response, like listening to porn playing in another room. He wasn’t thinking about his _sister_ , just a girl.

Sometimes he couldn’t stand it; he’d lie there and bite his lip and think about snow and ugly old women for as long as he could after she finished, but eventually he’d break down and get himself off as well. He tried extra hard to be quiet those nights, not knowing if she was still awake.

In the daylight they said nothing, and in a strange way it was as if it never happened at all. Pietro was glad that it didn’t make things awkward between them, because he didn’t think he’d be able to stand that.

After months of that, of telling himself it didn’t mean anything when he listened to her, of refusing to let himself think of it as anything but meaningless stimulation, Pietro had more or less convinced himself it was true.

Then he came home one day from work to find Wanda dressed in nothing but a pair of panties and a t-shirt worn thin with age and washing. She was bent over the tub, scrubbing at something in the water, and the pose combined with the scant clothing drove the breath out of his lungs.

Pietro froze in the doorway, staring, his heart pounding and breath catching in his throat. He’d never gotten hard so fast in his life, and his brain made a brief, scrambling attempt to rationalize it by saying it was only because he couldn’t see her face, so he didn’t _know_ it was his twin.

Then Wanda looked up, probably wondering why he hadn’t shut the door again, and that pathetic justification went right out the window.

She was gorgeous. He already knew she was pretty, people had been commenting on that since before he could remember. This was different. Her hair was pulled back, highlighting the sharpness of her cheekbones. The shirt was wet down the front, plastering it to the soft curves of her breasts. And the welcoming smile she gave him emphasized the soft fullness of her lips.

Oh God, he was going to Hell. Surely confession wouldn’t be nearly enough to earn forgiveness for this sin, assuming he could bring himself to confess it in the first place.

“What are you _doing_?” he blurted out. Belatedly realizing he was still standing in the open doorway and anyone could wander by to see her like that, he took a step forward and hastily shut it behind him.

“Washing the laundry, what does it look like?” she replied, rolling her eyes at him. “Did you think it magically cleans itself while you’re away? Clearly, I need to make you do more of the chores.”

They split the chores more or less evenly, but somehow laundry had always ended up being her job. Pietro hadn’t thought much about it. “Do you always do it in your underwear?”

“There seems no point in getting my clothes wet and soapy,” she said, shrugging carelessly. “Nobody’s going to see except you, and you’ve seen me in far less.”

“That was when we were little children, Wanda,” he protested. “I haven’t seen you naked since we were six.”

“And I’m not naked now, so what does it matter?” she countered, tilting her head and giving him a puzzled look. “This is what I wear to sleep every night, Pietro. You’ve never cared before.”

Somehow he’d managed to go all this time without actually knowing what she slept in. Willful ignorance, perhaps, or the fact that they usually changed behind the curtain.

Now he was going to have the image branded into his mind forever. Why was the mental picture of her slipping her hand into her panties to touch herself more erotic than the idea of her doing it naked? Vaguely Pietro was aware he was breathing too hard and probably ought to control himself, but he had no idea how to go about doing that.

“Why are you home early, anyway?” Wanda asked, frowning at him. “Are you sick? You look flushed.”

His flush had absolutely nothing to do with illness, and he was home only because there had been a mistake made in ordering materials, and nothing for him to do on the site. But he seized on the excuse gratefully. “No, I’m not feeling well. I… I’ll be right back.”

Leaving her blinking in confusion and concern behind him, Pietro escaped into the hall and bolted for the toilets. At this time of day not many people were in the building, especially men, so he thankfully had it to himself. That could change any moment, of course, but right now he decided he really didn’t care.

Shutting himself into one of the tiny stalls, he dropped his pants and braced one hand on the wall, wrapping the other around his throbbing dick. Desperately he turned his head to hide his face against his shoulder, attempting to muffle the noises that would echo in the tiled room and be audible in the hall outside.

No matter how he tried, he couldn’t think of anything except the way she’d looked, her t-shirt nearly see-through against the curve of her breasts, nipples peaked from the cold water, the satin panties visible beneath the hem and drawing attention to the long, smooth line of her legs.

Imagining her lying in her bed dressed in that led straight to imagining _him_ lying in bed with her dressed in that, curled up the way they used to do, face to face with her pressed against him. He was taller than her now, and he was pretty sure that with her head tucked under his chin they’d line up just right.

If Wanda spread her legs a little he could press between them, let the soft flesh rub against his dick like his hand was doing now. He’d be able to feel the satin of her panties, feel her fingers moving beneath, flexing against him as she pushed her fingers inside where, oh God, yes, he wanted to be…

With a stifled cry that he barely stopped from being her name, Pietro came hard into the toilet, his whole body shuddering with the force of his release.

He was definitely, definitely, going to Hell.

* * *

Exactly as he’d feared, things became awkward between them after that. Pietro knew it was entirely his own fault, but there was nothing he could do to fix it. Now that he’d been forced to confront the fact that he desired his sister, he couldn’t seem to _stop_ looking. Worse, he caught her giving him curious, speculative looks more than once, and he was terrified she knew what was in his head.

Now everything Wanda did seemed provocative. The short skirts she preferred, the deep necklines that showed a hint of her breasts, the makeup and hairstyles that emphasized the natural beauty of her face. The way she always sat right next to him, cuddled up against him with their bodies touching, as if neither of them was complete without the other there.

She flirted with boys in the markets and Pietro was consumed by jealousy. When she wasn’t there he would chase off any of them who had seemed interested in her in return, covering it with the justification that he was ‘only looking out for her’ as her big brother. Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice or care, not yet interested in anything beyond flirting, but he dreaded the day she wanted more from someone.

A few times, he tried flirting as well, thinking that perhaps if he could find a different girl to interest him, his sinful obsession with his sister would fade. He tried girls that looked nothing like Wanda, and girls that looked enough like her to be their sibling as well, but couldn’t bring himself to follow through with any of them. He only wanted her. The idea of being with anyone else, of having someone come between them, was impossible to contemplate. 

Worse, she seemed more careless than ever about having him see her in little to no clothing. Pietro wasn’t sure if it was truly a change in her behaviour or if he was simply noticing more often when she showered while he was there, or came to breakfast still in her makeshift pyjamas. Too often he had to make excuses and flee the room, which was what made her look at him thoughtfully.

At night Wanda grew more and more active, and it was torture for him to lie there listening to her. His fevered imagination worked overtime, and sometimes he literally couldn’t stop himself from following through on the fantasy. Not even waiting until she was finished and might have fallen asleep, but jerking off right along with her, praying that she wouldn’t notice because she was lost in her own pleasure.

And then one night, _she_ was the one who followed along with _him_. Pietro heard her and knew he should stop, knew it was the worst thing that had happened yet, but it only enflamed him further. The idea that listening to him turned her on as well, that she was lying there thinking about him while bringing herself pleasure, made him come harder and faster than he ever had before. He didn’t do a very good job of stifling his cry in his pillow, but he wasn’t sure she made any effort at all to keep him from hearing her gasp when she came too.

The thought that he might now be the one leading Wanda down the path of temptation and sin was enough to leave him awake through the whole night, miserable and shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Bad enough that Pietro would go to Hell for his thoughts and actions. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ drag her along with him.

He didn’t know for certain that she was thinking the same thoughts as him. That it was truly hearing him that made her feel desire. 

But he didn’t know for certain that it _wasn’t_ what was in her head, and he couldn’t take the chance of allowing it to go any farther.

The next morning he emerged, exhausted and heartsick, to find Wanda already up and setting out their meagre breakfast. She was humming softly and smiling a tiny, secretive little smile as she worked. The smile grew into something closer to a smirk when she looked up at him. And of course, she was still wearing only the t-shirt and panties that had started the whole mess in the first place. Pietro was deathly afraid that this confirmed his darkest fears, that his actions were tempting her into desiring him, too. 

“I think I should find my own place,” he blurted out, feeling sick as the words left his mouth. It was the only solution he’d been able to come up with, but the idea of leaving her was only marginally less painful than the thought of bringing her with him to Hell.

Her smile vanished as if it had never been, and she stared at him in horror. “What? Pietro, what are you talking about? Why would you even say such a thing?”

“We’re nearly eighteen, Wanda,” he replied, looking away because he knew he would lose his resolve if he saw tears fill her eyes. “We need our own space to live our lives properly. Soon enough we’ll find lovers, get married, maybe even have children of our own.”

“So you’re just going to abandon me?” her voice wavered, and he didn’t need to look to know she was starting to cry. “After all this time, after everything we’ve been through, after we _swore_ we would always have each other? Over the possibility of _someday_ needing to be apart?”

“I’m not abandoning you,” Pietro protested, because that was the last thing he wanted her to think. “It’s not like I’m talking about moving to America, Wanda. We’ll see each other every day, we’ll still do everything together that we always have.”

“No,” she declared. Grabbing his arm, she yanked him around to face her whether he liked it or not. Sure enough there were tears on her cheeks, making dirty streaks of shadow as they ran through her makeup, but her expression was infuriated determination. “ _No_ , I won’t let you do this. These are the same words you used when we were thirteen. I spent nearly three years miserable without you there beside me, I won’t go through it again!”

“I was right to separate us back then and you know it,” Pietro shot back, pulling free of her hold on him. “And I’m right to do it now. We need privacy, Wanda! We can’t keep living in each other’s pockets forever.”

“Privacy!” She jerked back, as shocked as if he’d struck her. “Is that what this is about? What happens at night?”

It was the first time either of them had acknowledged it out loud, and Pietro swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say, how to answer her. If she _hadn’t_ realized how he felt about her, he didn’t want to tell her and have her hate him after all. If she had and he was right about what happened last night, he didn’t want to encourage her.

“I need to go to work, I slept in and I’m going to be late,” he lied, avoiding the issue because he didn’t know how to deal with it. Maybe if he gave her some time to cool down, she’d come to her senses and realize he was right. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Grateful he’d dressed before coming out from behind the curtain, he escaped through the door as fast as he could without making it look like he was running. He was already halfway down the hall when he heard her behind him. “Pietro!”

Turning, he saw Wanda standing in the doorway, staring after him with an equal mix of anguish and anger. She still wore nothing but her scant sleepwear, and fury born of jealousy and longing bubbled up inside Pietro. “Put some clothes on, you look like a prostitute waiting for a john,” he scolded her. The words were harsh, too harsh, and he was horrified even as he said them.

At least they had the effect he’d intended. Wanda made an outraged noise and moved back into their apartment, slamming the door after her so hard he was surprised the wood didn’t crack. He was able to flee the building without further problems.

Twice that day he was yelled at by the foreman for carelessness, because his thoughts were dangerously absorbed in his dilemma. As Pietro walked home that night, he counted his meagre pay for the day over and over, as if recounting would cause the number to change.

It wasn’t nearly enough. Only by pooling their resources were they able to keep their home and still afford to eat. Their building was old and damaged, the plumbing didn’t work half the time and the heating almost never did. But it was clean, with few roaches and other bugs, and it was in a relatively safe neighbourhood. They didn’t have to worry much about coming home late from work or a protest rally, or about getting sick from filth and rodents.

Alone, Pietro would have to settle for something much, much worse. That part wouldn’t even bother him, except for the knowledge that Wanda made no more than he did. Some months she made less, if her tips were especially bad. The thought of her living in a dirty, infested building filled with criminals and drug addicts made him want to puke. 

He couldn’t do that to her. But what other choice did he have?

Half afraid of what would be waiting for him at home, Pietro walked around the block a few times instead of going inside, thinking hard. Knowing Wanda, she would still be furious at him for his cruel comment and the threat of abandonment. By the time darkness had fallen he still hadn’t found anything approaching a solution, and he couldn’t avoid going home forever. 

To his surprise, however, when he edged inside their door he wasn’t immediately greeted by harsh words or a thrown object. She was seated at the table, a newspaper spread out in front of her. When she looked up the anger was gone, but the determination had only grown. 

“I found somewhere,” she said, pointing at a classified ad she had circled in the paper.

It felt like Pietro’s heart stopped for a moment. Even though he’d hoped she would see that he was right, he hadn’t expected her to leap on the idea so quickly that she’d have found another home already. It meant the whole thing went from being an idea to a reality, and the reality turned out to be something he wasn’t sure he could truly live with.

“We’ll have to cut down our food budget, and there’s no tub in the apartment, only a sink. So we’d have to use the public bath houses,” Wanda continued, glaring at him in defiance. “But it’s not much more expensive than here, and there are two rooms. One of us can have the bedroom, and the other can keep doing as we have here, in a corner behind the curtain. I don’t care who gets what.”

Dumbfounded, Pietro blinked at her. It finally penetrated that she wasn’t talking about another apartment for herself, but one for _both_ of them. One that met his demand for privacy at least to some extent. They wouldn’t be able to hear each other at night, and he wouldn’t have to worry about walking in on her while she bathed. But they would still be _together_ , in almost every way that counted.

He would miss the sound of her breathing, of knowing she was so close while they slept, but that was a small price to pay to solve almost every other problem. It wouldn’t stop Pietro from thinking about her, from looking at her with desire, but it might be enough to save her soul even if it wouldn’t save his.

“That… that sounds good,” he finally said, his voice a hoarse rasp. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

Flipping her hand at him in a dismissive gesture, Wanda leaned back in her chair. Her glare faded, replaced by fond exasperation and a hint of desperation. “Clearly you woke up with a bad case of stupidity, or you’d never have suggested leaving in the first place. I’ll forgive you this once. Don’t do it again.”

Her words implied she meant the insult, but Pietro knew she really meant him talking about leaving her. “I won’t,” he swore, and he meant the promise to cover both.

Wanda understood, because the desperation underlying her expression eased. “Come sit down for dinner,” she said. “Tomorrow we’ll move - I’ve already made the arrangements with the landlords.”

That was so incredibly like her, to go ahead and fix things to her satisfaction without even consulting him. Pietro sighed heavily and gave her a Look, but she only smiled back at him. “You know, I’m twelve minutes older than you,” he complained, handing her his pay as he sat down. “I’m the one who should be in charge of things.”

“No, really? I had no idea, you’ve never mentioned it before,” she teased, putting the money in the jar where they kept what little they had. “If I let you run things, we’d never get anything accomplished. We both know I’m the sensible twin.”

Sensible was not a word Pietro had ever applied to his sister, and he very much doubted he ever would. Practical, yes. Ruthless, maybe. But not sensible. Yet somehow, he always let her get her way in the end.

Hopefully, this would be enough to protect her from him.

* * *

For a long time, lying strapped into a bed with his body trying to destroy itself from the inside out, Pietro thought maybe this was his punishment. That God had finally decided to do something about the filthy thoughts he could never stop himself from having about his sister, his _twin_. For years since facing the truth Pietro had waited for the ax to fall, and surely this was it.

Others were dying from the experiments, he knew that. Every so often he’d hear the screams from another cell reach a peak and choke off, and shortly after he’d hear the wheels of the gurney squeaking across the floor of the hall as they took the body away.

Each time he was terrified it was Wanda they were taking, that she was gone and he would never see her again, would never even see where she was buried. In those moments he wanted to give up, wanted to join her, more than anything.

Two things stopped him. One was the knowledge that he _wouldn’t_ be joining her, that she would be going to Heaven while he went straight below to eternal torment. Trying to imagine torture worse than what he was going through right now was impossible, but all the more terrifying for its impossibility.

The second thing was the certainty that _she_ would never give up, never leave him. The belief that he would feel it somehow, if she died. They were twins, two halves of a whole. He would know if she was gone. He would _know_.

So he kept telling himself, over and over. The lab techs refused to respond to his questions, on the rare occasions he was aware and coherent enough to ask.

About the same time they unstrapped him and let him start trying to get used to the bizarre new ways his body worked, Pietro imagined he could feel her with him. It was as if she was standing behind him, peering over his shoulder, watching him. Not all the time, but the sensation came more and more often, and lasted longer each time.

Was she dead after all? Was it her ghost, haunting him, unable to move on with the other half of her soul trapped inside him?

Every time he’d almost convinced himself, feelings of encouragement and determination would flood through him. She wasn’t giving up, the ghost whispered, and neither should he. They’d be together again.

Eventually his new powers settled enough for him to not need constant oversight, and they let him have a room with _four_ solid walls instead of one made of glass. It had been opaque from his side, but he knew perfectly well they’d been observing him through it.

Still they told him nothing about Wanda, and continued to lock him in his room ‘for his own safety’. Pietro tried begging and threatening the man who came to bring him food, would have tried bribing had he anything to offer, all to no avail. He even tried breaking free, shooting through the door the moment it was open, but his speed was still unreliable and failed him before he’d made it more than a few feet.

Finally, when he was ready to give in to despair, the door opened one night and she walked through it.

Wide-eyed, he jumped to his feet from where he’d been lying on the bed. He opened his mouth to say her name, but she stopped him with a finger held to her lips. Turning back to the lab tech who’d opened the door for her, she gestured at him… and little wisps of red light seemed to travel from her fingers to his eyes, making them glow from within for a moment.

“You saw nothing, you did nothing,” she murmured to him, and her eyes had that same demonic glow. “I’m safe in my cell, there is nothing to be concerned about. Go.”

As if moving in a dream, the tech nodded and closed the door again. Smiling so wide it was nearly inhuman, Wanda turned and flung herself at him. Pietro caught her reflexively, holding her as tight as he could, absorbing the familiar and longed for feel of her against him.

The sense of her watching over his shoulder strengthened the moment they made contact, and shifted until it was almost as if he could feel what she was feeling, aware of her body as well as his own. “That was really you?” he exclaimed. “I thought it was a ghost!”

“I know, I could tell you were ready to give up. I had to come to you,” she whispered, her arms tight around his neck. She pulled back enough to let her grin up at him, her eyes still glittering red. “They should know better than to give me the power to control people and then expect me to sit like a good girl in my room.”

The power to control people. That was more than a little terrifying. Pietro had thought his new abilities were strange and unbelievable, but Wanda apparently put him to shame. “Are we the only ones left?” he asked, stroking a hand over her hair as he’d once done when they were young and she’d had bad dreams. It was a comforting gesture for both of them.

“I think so,” she said, subdued by the thought. “My sense of you came first and is strongest, but I could feel others before and now there is no one. Pietro, this is incredible. I can see into people’s minds, I can find their darkest thoughts and greatest regrets and feed the nightmares back to them, or convince them to do whatever I want. Soon there will be nothing that can hurt us again – and there will never be any way for anyone to separate us. Even when we’re apart, I’ll be there with you.”

Her eyes glowed, and he felt her inside him, literally _inside_ his mind as if she was thinking his thoughts along with him. The implications of her new power were only now starting to occur to him, and Pietro’s heart raced in fear. If Wanda was inside his head, she would find out. She would know the darkness of _his_ thoughts, and she would surely be disgusted.

Losing her now, after all they’d been through, would crush him. He couldn’t stand the idea, and he reacted with sheer panic.

Frantically he tried to put distance between them, mentally and physically, scrambling to find a way to block her from his mind. He felt the sting of his rejection echoing back from her, pain as real as if he’d slapped her in the face. “What are you doing?” she cried, clinging to him. “Why are you pulling away?”

“Stay out of my head,” he exclaimed, and he wasn’t sure if it was meant to be an order or a plea. “Don’t look inside me, Wanda. You’ll hate me. I’m no better than anyone else.” And worse than many.

“I could never hate you,” she insisted, bewildered by his objection. “I know that you’re not perfect, Pietro. I don’t care.”

He used his speed and broke free before she could stop him, but there was nowhere to go. The room was tiny, and even pressed against the wall furthest from her, he was only barely out of arm’s reach. She stepped forward, reaching out, and he flinched. “Don’t,” he said, and this time it was definitely a plea.

If there had ever been a time in their lives when she listened to him instead of stubbornly doing what she wanted, he couldn’t remember it. This was no different. When he tried to evade her touch his speed failed him, and he couldn’t stop her from reaching into him to find out what was so upsetting.

He knew the moment Wanda uncovered the shocking images and fantasies shoved as deep into his mind as he could manage. Her eyes went wide as she gasped, and sure enough she jerked away from him, taking a step back and putting both hands over her mouth as she stared at him.

Pietro wanted desperately to reach out to her in turn, close the distance and beg her to forgive him. As if such a thing could be forgiven.

“All these years… this is why you keep trying to put distance between us?” she finally asked, her voice trembling. “Pietro, I told you when we were thirteen, it doesn’t bother me!”

“That was different,” he said gruffly, his eyes fixed on the floor in shame. Obviously Wanda _didn’t_ understand the full extent of it, how it had gone beyond neutral desire into lusting after _her_ , specifically. Maybe he’d been wrong about influencing her with his sinfulness, after all.

“I tried to be so careful, testing to see how you would react, and I was sure you felt the same as I did,” she said, blowing his hopeful theory right out of the water. “But then you wanted to _leave_ , and I thought I’d made a mistake. Why did you push me away, if you desired me?”

“Because it’s wrong,” he replied, his heart sinking. He’d corrupted her after all.

“Why? Because the priests say so?” she retorted, scornful. “Because God says so? The same God who allows war and murder and little children left terrified and sobbing in the rubble of their lives? If He exists at all, then we are what He made us. If He made us this way, how can that be wrong?”

“That’s…” Pietro trailed off, struggling to marshal his thoughts. She did have a point. He’d never understood why God would cause people to be born in such a way that they either had to suffer miserably in denial, or turn away from their faith. The trial of Job, yes, but why some and not others?

If Wanda felt the same as him, didn’t that mean it was something inside them, not choices made, that had led them to this point? Was God truly vindictive enough to make them this way, and then punish them for it by sending them to Hell? Being with her _felt_ right, deep down in his heart. She was a part of him, and living without her next to him had been like living without a limb. 

It was so difficult to think when she was offering him everything he’d ever wanted so badly. And, he was pretty sure, projecting _her_ desire at him, feeding into his and making it worse.

Deliberately, Wanda licked her lips, and he echoed her without thinking about it. “Things are going to be different, now,” she told him, her voice going husky. “I don’t think a wall is going to be enough to keep us apart. We won’t just be listening, anymore.”

Lifting her hand, she traced her index finger over her damp bottom lip. Pietro’s breath caught as he _felt_ the sensation, as if she’d done it to him instead. Then she slid the tip of her finger into her mouth, her tongue brushing against it, and he shuddered as his dick jumped.

“We can’t do this,” he objected weakly, but he knew any resistance he tried to put up wasn’t going to last long. Not if she was determined, not when he’d wanted it so badly for so long.

Not when it felt like _that_.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” she replied, fiercely. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine, and I’m yours. We didn’t let what other people thought bother us when we were little. Why is it stopping us now?”

There were arguments Pietro could make against that reasoning. As children they hadn’t understood _why_ it was wrong, but they did now. As children they had still been innocent, ignorant of the problem the adults saw coming, the very same problem they were now facing.

Only, he didn’t want to argue.

He wanted to taste her, kiss that fierce anger right off her lips.

Wanda’s eyes lit up, and he knew she’d seen the thought in his mind. Instead of moving forward, though, she reached up to the top button of her dress, and undid it. Then the next, and the next. Every inch of flesh revealed seemed to boost Pietro’s heartbeat again, until he caught sight of the lacy material of her bra and his pulse shot to the sky.

He was moving before he could reconsider, too fast to see as he crossed the space between them in an instant. When he stopped he was behind her, hands on her waist to steady himself, pressed against her hard enough that she would surely feel the solid length of his dick grinding into her ass.

It was a last warning, a last chance for her to come to her senses, realize how wrong this was, and leave. Instead she laughed in delight at the display of his powers, and pushed back against him.

Gasping, Pietro gave in and ran his mouth along the curve of her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat and a hint of the chemicals that had been given to them to change their bodies so drastically. They both shuddered at the shared sensation.

His sense of her body ebbed and flowed, presumably because Wanda’s powers were still as unstable as his. Still it was enough to tell when he found the best places, how much she liked it when he bit at her earlobe, how amazing it felt to her when he slid his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts through the bra.

Did she feel what he did when she ground against his dick, the way heat sparked through him and he wanted to tear her dress off and throw her onto the bed? Probably, given the way she kept doing it, adjusting the motion of her hips so it was better and better each time.

Finally she had all the buttons undone, and he reluctantly stepped back so the dress could fall from her shoulders. Turning, Wanda reached out to wind her arms around his neck, and then they were kissing at last, as he’d dreamed of so many times in the darkest part of the night.

She tasted good, sweet and hot like honey left to warm in the summer sun. Groaning, Pietro plundered her mouth with his tongue, and she fought him with hers every step of the way in a duel of desire. Neither of them had any idea what they were doing, but with the doubled sensations it was easy to find the right ways to touch.

How long had it been since he’d held her so close? After they’d moved he’d stopped even cuddling her during the daylight hours, or at least not as much or for as long. Wanda had been irritated at him, but the contact was too much for him to bear and he’d feared she would see and question his body’s inevitable reaction. Or worse, that she would be pulled back onto the wrong path.

Now he didn’t have to worry, didn’t have to keep a careful distance between them. It was as if nothing had ever changed, as if they were young and carefree again and could simply enjoy the connection they shared.

Yet at the same time, there was nothing young or innocent about this touch. If he was going to give in to temptation at last, he damn well wasn’t going to hold back.

Pushing her back a step brought her up against the bed, and she willingly sank down to the mattress. He broke the kiss reluctantly as she went, but took the chance to shed his clothes, as well. She wriggled free of her bra and slipped her panties down, and for the first time since they were little Pietro got a good look at her.

Wanda had grown into a beautiful woman while he’d been trying hard not to notice. Her breasts were full, the perfect size to cup in his hands, her body slender and lithe. He wanted to touch every inch of her, mark her as his and only his everywhere on her body.

Then he grinned, as he realized he could effectively do exactly that.

When he used his speed it didn’t seem to him as if he was moving any differently, but rather as if the rest of the world slowed down. Pietro ran his hands over her, savouring the exquisitely soft feel of her flesh beneath his fingers. Leaning over her, he retraced the same path with his tongue, biting and sucking at her nipples but paying equal attention to the rest of her breasts.

Through the link he could feel how it seemed to her as if he touched everywhere at once, his hands and mouth moving so fast she didn’t have a chance to register it as separate touches. It was overwhelming, so much so that he lost control and returned to normal time, both of them panting and shivering.

“Oh, that was fun,” Wanda said, eyes sparkling as she looked up at him. “My new powers aren’t the only ones good for playing, it seems.”

“Not quite what they had in mind when they gave them to us, I think,” he replied, smirking. None of this felt quite real, and part of him was convinced he was still lost in the transformation process, hallucinating this.

None of his other hallucinations had been anywhere near this pleasurable, though. And he didn’t think he could have imagined how it would feel when he did that to her.

Eagerly she pulled him down to her, turning sideways as he joined her so they were curled up together as they’d always done before, arms around each other and her tucked under his chin.

For a moment all Pietro could do was cling tight and try to keep breathing. He’d missed this _so much_. It felt like he was whole again, complete for the first time in years. The fact that they were naked, with his aching erection caught between their bodies, didn’t even matter. All he wanted was to soak up the feel of her against him. 

At least, until Wanda moved, shifting to rub her breasts against his chest as her mouth trailed over his throat. He rocked his hips against her in response, moaning when the motion made his dick slide between their stomachs. 

Reaching down, she caught him in her hand, and they both cried out at the sensation. Pietro nearly lost control right then and there, but he held himself back with an effort, not wanting it to be over.

When she tried to guide him between her thighs, however, he resisted. “No, we can’t,” he exclaimed, anguished at having to object. He wanted to know what it would be like to take her, to be inside her at last where he’d so often imagined himself. “If you get pregnant…”

“Hush, I have an idea,” she told him, stroking his jaw with her other hand. “Or rather, _you_ do, and I want to give it to you.”

A flash of red in her eyes was the only warning he had, before Wanda tugged the image of one of his favourite fantasies out of his memory and placed it before his mind’s eye. The first fantasy he’d ever had of her, the idea of pushing himself between her soft thighs while she pleasured herself.

Once again he had to fight hard to stop himself from coming, and he was panting when she finally released him from the image. “You’re going to kill me,” he groaned, resting his cheek against her temple as he tried to recover some measure of control.

“Only a little death,” she promised, and this time Pietro didn’t fight her when she hitched herself closer and pushed him between her legs.

It wasn’t quite the same as his fantasy. There were no panties in the way, and instead of her fingers she angled him so _he_ was grinding against her, each thrust rubbing his length over a spot that made pleasure crash over both of them in a blinding wave. She was hot and wet, the folds closing around him in a way that seemed nearly as good as the real thing must be, and Pietro trembled with the effort of holding back.

Then she lost her grip on her powers and he was alone in his own body again, without the added stimulation of what she was feeling. That was a good thing, though, or Pietro didn’t think he’d have lasted long enough for her to find release as well. He’d experienced enough of her sensations to know how to move for the best effect, and he gripped her hips tight and did his best to drive her entirely out of her mind. The same way she’d so often done to him, without even knowing she was doing it.

Soon Wanda was crying out with every thrust, her nails digging into his shoulders as she shuddered against him. When she came a wave of ecstasy swept over Pietro, dragging him right over the edge with her. He barely had the sense to pull away as he lost himself, spilling his seed over her thighs.

They were both panting as they recovered. Wanda tucked herself closer again, not appearing to care about the mess he’d made. After a moment of arguing with the limp muscles in his arms, Pietro leaned over and snagged a corner of the blanket, pulling it over both of them. They settled into their customary position, and it was as if no time had passed at all.

Wanda snuggled against him, making little noises of contentment and happiness, cat-like purrs that made Pietro smile. After a moment she started to giggle, her shoulders shaking, and the giggles quickly escalated to all-out laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded, put out at the thought that she might be laughing at him or what they’d done.

When she looked up her smile held no trace of mockery. “I may have projected that last bit a little further than I meant to,” she snickered. “The lab techs are very confused.”

Realizing what she meant, Pietro felt like a cold rock had been dropped inside his chest somehow. “If they realize what we’ve done, they’ll separate us.” The idea that he might lose this so soon after he’d gotten all his wishes granted was chilling.

“They can’t,” Wanda said confidently. “If they try, I’ll make them forget. Besides, they need us too much to make us unhappy. We’re the only survivors.”

The reminder that he’d come so very close to losing her made Pietro hug her harder, and she nuzzled his shoulder with her cheek in reassurance. “Finally, we’ll have everything we ever wanted,” she said, her voice soft but with a note of vindictive satisfaction. “We can protect ourselves, we’ll never be helpless again. We’ll help Strucker tear down Stark and his allies, and have our revenge for what he did to us, our family, and our country. And… we have each other back, properly.”

“Better than before,” Pietro murmured, stroking her hair. “I’m never letting go again.” She drew her fist back and punched him in the ribs, hard enough to make him wince. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For letting go in the first place,” she retorted, and he could feel equal amounts of amusement and aggravation from her. “You’d _better_ not do it again.”

“Never,” he promised, and she sighed and melted against him.

It was like coming home, falling asleep with Wanda curled up next to him again. In a way this was even better than the sex, than the fulfillment of his wickedest dreams and fantasies. After so many years, more than a third of their lives, Pietro was finally back where he belonged.


End file.
